


you are the best parts of all the songs i love

by majesdane



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-08
Updated: 2009-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-06 09:33:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesdane/pseuds/majesdane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>There are a lot of things she would like to ask Emily, actually.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	you are the best parts of all the songs i love

  
_une main à tenir pour toujours._

 

 

 

Naomi remembers their first kiss.

Sometimes she's surprised that she remembers it at all, because she'd been well drunk by the time Emily had stumbled out the back door; she'd been able to hear the lyrics of whatever song was playing, the steady throb of the base, even sitting out in the garden. Emily'd sat down in front of her, had sat back on their heels.

They'd finished off the bottle of vodka Naomi had brought outside.

And then Emily kissed her, and it's remarkable, Naomi thinks, that she can barely remember anything else about that evening, but she remembers how Emily tasted like cinnamon. Maybe it was schnapps, or gum, or something else. But she remembers that detail very clearly; for days later she'd had that taste in her mouth, even after she'd brushed her teeth again and again.

She's remembers stupid things about that evening, like how the grass was cool and how it probably needed to be cut, because it was too long. Remembers the colour of Emily's skirt (navy) and how her fringe just barely fell into her eyes (hazel coloured, but darker than that too, almost mahogany like, she couldn't place it).

Naomi remembers, too, the way Katie had found them, the way people started staring at her in class less because she seemed to have her hand permanently raised in politics class and more so because apparently _she_ tried to snog Emily Fitch at a party, that _she_ was the lesbian.

It bothered her, but not enough to actually do anything about it.

She wonders, even now, why she never said anything, why she kept quiet about what really happened. She supposes it's because no one would have believed her -- it would have been her word against Katie's, after all, and those weren't fair odds -- or because there was just no point in dragging Emily down with her.

(Emily Fitch, who she had two classes with, who she'd never said a fucking word to until that party. She was suddenly everywhere; Naomi found her even when she wasn't actively looking for her, just there she'd be, looking guilty and sad and yet, somehow, hopeful. And Naomi hadn't owed her a goddamn thing.)

At times she wonders if Emily remembers their first kiss (she's sure she does); wishes sometimes that she could ask, because she'd like to know if Emily remembered it the way she did or if it was somehow very different, from her perspective. And she'd ask questions, too, like why Emily tasted like cinnamon, why she decided to go into the garden, why she was even _at_ that party.

There are a lot of things she would like to ask Emily, actually.

Most of all: why Emily kissed her in the first place.

(She's doesn't know, not even now.)

 

;;

 

Sometimes she wants to grab Emily and shake her; other times she wants to grab her and kiss her senselessly. Either way, she'd say the same thing: "Stop worrying."

She can tell that Emily's scared, that she thinks one day Naomi's going to wake up and decide that she's only interested in blokes, as if all this time together has meant nothing at all, that when she told Emily she loved her it was only because of a passing fancy, not because it was actually true.

Naomi can't tell her, how deep this feeling is, how Emily's fingers are wrapped around her heart, squeezing it too tight; sometimes she can barely even breathe, is just so overcome with how surreal all of this is and how very much aware she is of loving Emily. And it's at times like these when she _almost_ gets it, why Emily is afraid.

It's terrifying, really.

And she can feel it in the way Emily kisses her, those times when she pulls Naomi in, kisses her in a rough, desperate kind of way, looks at her with such a sad expression on her face when she pulls away; sometimes Naomi feels like crying, other times she just wants to wrap her arms around Emily and hold her close.

(It almost always turns out to be the latter; she doesn't want to cry in front of Emily. It's not like she's ashamed, she's just afraid of not being able to explain why she's doing it.)

It's hard to get the words out sometimes, because they seem to get lodged in her throat, especially when Emily does something like kiss her fingertips or draw hearts on her back with her fingers, nails painted a shade of pink to match Naomi's. It's just too much sometimes.

She says them anyway; she likes the way Emily smiles when Naomi says _I love you_ , likes even more the way Emily kisses her afterward, sometimes gentle and loving, other times fast and needy. It's not even _how_ she kisses that Naomi likes best, it's just the fact that she _does_ it, and even after everything she's done, Emily's still in love with her, somehow.

And when Emily kisses her, she steals away Naomi's breath and heart, all at once. It's a kind of thing she's never felt before.

It makes her feel like she's a kite, caught in an updraft, moving with reckless abandon; Emily is there to hold onto her string, to keep her grounded.

 

;;

 

Usually Emily wakes before her and it depends on the hour how she'll wake Naomi up; sometimes it's with a kiss, other times with her name being whispered in her ear. And then there are the times that Emily wakes Naomi up early in the morning with her hand between Naomi's legs, fingers stroking gently; they'll spend the whole day in bed on days like these, just making love and dozing in the warm summer sunlight that creeps through the curtains and falls in beams of soft gold on Naomi's bed.

"It feels like falling, sometimes," Emily tells her with a small smile, kissing Naomi's shoulder, neither of them willing to get up just yet, content enough to lie under raspberry colored sheets, a copper duvet.

"What does?" Naomi asks, propping herself up on an elbow; Emily reaches forward, tucks a loose strand of peroxide hair behind Naomi's ear, smiles wider.

"Being in your bed," she says. "Just us lying here. Like the whole world's just spinning out of control and I'm hanging on for dear life -- clinging to _you_ ," she kisses Naomi softly, chastely. "How do you do that? Make me feel that way."

Naomi doesn't know; she tells Emily such.

Emily laughs, says, "God, you're lovely," kisses her again.

 

;;

 

They share a cone of vanilla ice cream, eat it outside the shop, sitting on the curb.

Naomi leans forward, wipes away some of it from the corner of Emily's lip, leans in even further and kisses the same spot, and she doesn't even care, if anyone's looking, and this is what Emily's done to her, she thinks, because a month ago she would have never been able to be this affectionate. But now she can't even help it; she's lost all sense of self-control, it seems, and she kisses Emily all the time in public now. She doesn't give a damn who sees or what they think.

Emily smiles, reaches forward and covers Naomi's hand with her own, intertwines their fingers after a moment, and Naomi thinks that it's the little things like this that she loves best: just her and Emily, holding hands on a hot July afternoon, and she feels completely isolated from the rest of the world at times like this.

(And it's at times like this when she _gets_ it, the look Emily has on her face sometimes, like she's trying to memorize every second and detail of the time they've spent together, because it's so fucking precious and she don't want to forget a single thing, not ever.)

Naomi, says, "Let's go to my house," and Emily finishes the cone, crumbles up the wrapped and says, "No, let's go to mine," and they end up lying in the garden, staring up at the sky and trying to find shapes in the clouds, and it's so _normal_ , Naomi thinks, but it feels so fucking beautiful, at the same time.

She sees everything as beautiful now, she thinks, and she wishes she had the words to describe how she feels or how she sees things now, as if the world has suddenly opened itself anew to her, because she's finally looking at it the right way. Lying in bed -- on one of the evenings when Emily's stayed home for the night, to placate Katie and their parents -- she thinks about the colour of Emily's eyes.

They're such a striking brown, really, and so many shades at once, and she remembers the way Emily had given her a lazy smile one afternoon, after they'd made love, how she'd kissed Naomi and told her that her eyes were a soft gray-blue. Like dove feathers, she'd said.

(Naomi only wishes she could be so poetic; they're heartbreaking, really, the things Emily says sometimes, even when they're not meant to be.)

 

;;

 

They go to the lake, mid-July.

It's very different than the first time; nothing is complicated, nothing is uncertain. The water's not quite as cold and this time they kiss more than swim, and this time it's Naomi that pins Emily to the ground, later, when they're lying down in the sun on a blanket; she kisses Emily slowly and softly, feels Emily's hands grip her shoulders.

She kisses along the inside of Emily's thigh, tugs down her bikini bottoms; she doesn't let up even after Emily's come twice already, doesn't stop until Emily tugs painfully on Naomi's hair and begs her to, sounding almost of the verge of tears. And Naomi slides up quickly, lets Emily cover her face with kisses while still trying to catch her breath, and it's quite possibly one of the most beautiful things ever, to see Emily flushed and panting and worn out, and yet still wanting to kiss her senselessly.

They fall asleep like that, in the waning afternoon sunlight; Naomi wakes up first, her arm around Emily's waist, kisses Emily's forehead, nose, shoulders, until Emily finally stirs and without even opening her eyes leans up and kisses Naomi gently.

"You completely wore me out, you know," Emily tells her with a sleepy smile.

"Sorry," Naomi tells her with a grin, and Emily just shakes her head slowly, flushes a bit, shifts so that she's above Naomi, leaning down to press kisses along her jawline. Naomi closes her eyes with a soft sigh, as Emily's hands hands flit across her stomach, as she kisses the top of Naomi's breast.

Emily's movements are always so smooth and sure; it isn't long until Naomi's hips are jerking up against her hand, against skilled fingers, her moans swallowed up as Emily kisses her, hard.

"You're amazing," Naomi tells her afterward, when she's finally managed to catch her breath. Emily, lying curled up beside her, her head resting on Naomi's chest, kisses her stomach, gives her one of those small smiles that always makes Naomi's heart turn over slowly in her chest.

"I love you," Emily says, kisses her stomach again, traces the words there with her finger. "So much that it hurts sometimes."

Naomi doesn't know what to say, because it seems like saying _I love you_ in response is rather lacking, because even those words can't seem to convey exactly how she feels. She doesn't think that she can bottle up all the emotions inside her into only three little words; it seems impossible.

She pulls Emily up, kisses her on the mouth, buries her head in the crook of Emily's neck; her hair smells faintly of the apple-scented shampoo that Naomi's got in her bathroom. She noses Emily's hair away, kisses her neck lightly, hopes that Emily can understand how she feels without actually saying it out loud.

It'd be too much, to say those kinds of things out loud, anyway, about how on nights when she sleeps alone she wakes up to find her face buried in the pillow the Emily usually uses, her arms bunched around the sheets. Or about how she wakes up, often, to find her chest aching, like the space has gotten to small for her heart. Or the way that even the smallest of touches sets her skin alight and how she wishes she could spend every moment with Emily, in their maddening slowness.

It'd be too hard to say those kind of things out loud, to try and convey emotions with words that seem too simple.

 

;;

 

They sit on the couch holding hands, watching _Doctor Who_.

"What about your mum?" Naomi asks, when Emily leans up and kisses her gently, before tucking her head against Naomi's shoulder, threading their fingers together, her thumb stroking back and forth lightly across the back of Naomi's hand.

"Out. No one's here except us," Emily says, kisses her neck, and Naomi only manages to sigh a soft, _oh_ , feeling a mix between turned on and sleepy, and she isn't sure whether she'd like to just fall asleep on the couch with Emily while watching telly or drag her upstairs and make good use of the time they have alone.

In the end, she doesn't need to decide between the two choices because Emily does it for her, getting off the couch and leading her upstairs. Naomi smirks when she sees Emily's walls, pokes her in the ribs gently and says, "Really? Katie was actually that daft?"

Emily grins and kisses her and says something to the effect of how Naomi should just stop talking right now, but Naomi's too distracted by Emily's hands sliding up her shirt and unhooking her bra deftly to actually pay attention. When Emily's hands move back to her breasts, covering them with her palms, Naomi cups Emily's face in her hands, kisses her softly, before they both tumble into Emily's bed.

 

;;

 

Emily's sheets smell a bit like the ocean -- though they probably actually just smell of washing powder, Naomi thinks, though it's a nice enough fancy. She presses her face against the pillow, inhales deeply, and it mostly just smells like _Emily_ , which she's come to associate with lilacs, thanks to Emily having nicked a particularly lovely bottle of perfume from Katie ages ago (and still having not used it all up by this time).

"What are you thinking about?" Emily asks beside her, eyes closed, as Naomi writes lines of Shakespeare along her arm with her index finger, slow, light touches.

"You," Naomi says, and she can feel Emily smile into her shoulder when she presses her lips against it and kisses it. She kisses the top of Emily's head, brushes her fringe out of her eyes. Emily sighs, wraps her arm tighter around Naomi's waist.

"What are you thinking about me?"

Naomi feels unusually poetic, "Everything. Your eyes, your hair. How your pillow smells like lilacs. Your skin. The way you kiss me right before you come, how pretty you look all flushed and sweaty -- " Emily grins beside her, blushes slightly, kisses her shoulder again, " -- how I'd love to wake up every day and see you lying there next to me. How I never want to be without you."

Emily untangles herself from Naomi, climbs on top of her, plants kisses all over Naomi's face.

"I'm always thinking about you," she tells Naomi, kisses the bridge of Naomi's nose. Her fringe brushes against Naomi's skin; it tickles; she smiles, pulls Emily in for a proper kiss. Emily says, "Everything about you is beautiful. That's what I think."

Naomi pulls her in again, wraps her arms around Emily, hugs her tightly. She doesn't ever want to let go, but eventually Emily smiles at her in that soft, shy way, says, "We should probably start getting dressed again, soon," and Naomi resigns herself to lying back on the bed, blankets pulled up to her waist, watching Emily get dressed, stepping into purple and gray striped knickers; she smiles to herself when Emily pulls on a matching bra.

"What?" Emily asks, looking over at her, half-dressed, reaching for her top, which had been tossed over by Katie's dresser.

"Nothing." Naomi shakes her head. "You just look rather lovely right now, is all."

"I don't always?" Emily says, pretending to be hurt; a moment later her face breaks out into a grin and she crawls back into bed with Naomi, straddling her hips over the blankets. Holding hands, she bends down and kisses Naomi lightly.

 

;;

 

At times, despite herself, she wonders what's going to happen after summer has ended.

She thinks about going back to college, how fucking _different_ it's going to be now, after everything that's happened. She thinks about what will happen on the day Emily finally properly comes out to her parents, wonders if she'll still be around for Emily to introduce her to them. And after college --

Naomi doesn't like to think about that, doesn't like to think about _after_ anything. It always brings up the thought that Emily's fears are founded on _some_ small piece of truth, that maybe things won't end for the reasons she's afraid of, but that they _will_ end, regardless.

For years she's had everything planned out for what she was going to do after college; it's all starting to fall apart now, bit by bit, and it's not like she's _blaming_ Emily, but it's scary, to think about it. It's why she hasn't asked Emily about it, hasn't even discussed the upcoming school year at all. She's determined (for now, at least) to not think about it. Her life sometimes feels like it's become some sort of fairy-tale; she doesn't want to ruin that.

Instead of talking, she kisses Emily in line while they wait to get coffee, or in the changing room at whatever shop they're at when Katie's grudgingly agreed to come out with them to look at clothes, or in the park, when they sit and look at the swans on the water.

"They say swans mate for life," Emily tells her; Naomi feels Emily's hand grip hers just a bit tighter, doesn't like the sad look in Emily's eyes when she says it.

"So let's be swans then," she says, and places two fingers under Emily's chin, lifts it up and kisses her softly, in the lazy, half-opened mouth kisses that she knows Emily likes best.

Emily's fingers knit into her top, pull her in closer; Naomi can't help but smile into the kiss.

 

;;

 

She passes Katie in the kitchen en route to get herself a glass of water; Katie standing by the stove, staring at the tea kettle, a cup and tea bag already out and ready.

"It won't boil if you keep watching it," Naomi says, as she fetches a glass out of the cupboard. Katie rolls her eyes and turns, leaning back on the counter, and Naomi can feel Katie staring at her as she turns on the tap and watches her glass fill up with water.

Taking a long gulp of it, she wipes her mouth on the back of her hand, sighs, glances over at Katie. "What, then?"

"Not like I care or anything," Katie says, and she's got a pained sort of expression on her face, like she's forcing herself to say the words. "But don't break her heart, okay? Even though I still don't understand how she could like, fall in love with someone with you -- don't fuck things up, yeah?"

Naomi nods mutely and wonders if she's done something to give Katie the impression that she's going to be hurting Emily soon. And then she thinks, maybe she's given _Emily_ that sort of idea and Katie's just being surprisingly insightful; she goes back to the couch where Emily's sitting and watching a DVD of _Sixteen Candles_ , wraps her arms around Emily's waist and squeezes her tightly.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Emily asks, looks concerned.

"Nothing," Naomi says, hugs her tighter.

 

;;

 

Naomi says, "You should know: I won't ever leave you," and Emily doesn't say a word, just moves forward silently, kisses the space below Naomi's ear.

It's good enough, Naomi thinks.


End file.
